Page 48

Story: Grave Situation

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Leicht and I leave early the next morning to rejoin the others, despite my mother’s vociferous displeasure. She wants me to spend at least another day with her, and if the situation wasn’t so dire, she might have convinced me with her argument of “I wasn’t a good mother to you when you were a child, but I want to try harder now that you’re an adult.”

Eventually, I convince her that now is not the time for bonding but that I’ll be back once everything is settled and spend at least a week here—and bring someone special with me. That delights her so much that she manages not to ask the million questions I can see brimming in her eyes, and she immediately sends for her maid so they can plan entertainment and activities for my visit. I leave her to it and slip out.

Leicht and I fly over my home estate again on our way south, but there’s no new information to gather. It seems that despite my father’s defection and their new dragon watchdogs, Domys and his temple cronies are sitting tight with their zombies—almost as though they’re waiting for something. What, though? Information from the spy at the academy, who I’m convinced is the mastermind behind all this?

There has to be something I’m missing. Maybe the reason for the delay is connected to why the temples got involved. But what could it be?

I fret over it for most of the morning, until Leicht’s finally had enough. “Stop thinking so loudly, and you might be able to hear the answers you seek.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” I point out. “Anyway, nobody said you had to listen.”

He ignores that, because apparently my every thought is his property now. “You should use this time wisely. Speak to your master and have him begin searching for the traitor.”

It really bothers me that he’s right, and I’m tempted to ignore the suggestion purely out of spite, but we’re too close to our goal now for me to be petty.

After, though, I’ll be unleashing all my stored-up pettiness.

Leicht’s snort tells me what he thinks of that, but it’s my turn to ignore him as I reach out and politely knock on Master’s mind.

“Talon? I’ve been waiting to hear from you. Kathion contacted me last night and said you were in Harfarin.”

“We left this morning, but yes. I wanted to talk to my father and see if I could discover anything he hadn’t said yet. It was late when I finished, and I… needed time to process.” It surprised me a great deal how much the conversation—the last one I ever expect to have with the man who fathered me—bothered me. During, I didn’t think twice about it, but after… well, knowing how little he truly cares about anyone else, including his own children, upset me more than I expected.

“I understand. Frankly, if I were in your shoes with everything that’s happened lately, I’d probably have run away and joined a circus by now.”

That’s not as reassuring as I think he intended it to be. “Please don’t give me ideas.” Although a circus probably wouldn’t take me, given my inability to juggle worth a damn. “Father said some things that I’d like you to look into.” I give him a quick summary of the conversation.

“Someone here at the academy who is about a decade older than your uncle,” Master repeats. “That narrows it considerably. I’ll head back down to the archives immediately.” He hesitates. “Has the stone given any insight?”

“No. It’s been remarkably silent since Jaimin healed my mind—but then, it usually is when we need information.”

The stone half-heartedly chastises me but fails to add anything else.

“Hopefully this will give us some answers. I’d like a few moments alone with whoever’s behind everything we’ve been dealing with.”

“As long as you remember they’re mine to deal with.” I’m not giving up the right for vengeance.

“What do you plan to do now? Do we have any idea of the next steps, other than to go to your birthplace?”

Frustrated helplessness rises to choke me. Leicht hisses and banks slightly, jolting me out of my self-pity as I lurch to maintain my balance. I’ve noticed he does that—uses flight to distract me from my thoughts. I pet his neck lightly in acknowledgment, something I never would have dared to do before but know that he’s somewhat missing since he and Coryn haven’t been in the same place for a while.

“We don’t. I’m going to be mature and sensible and spend today digging through some of Wasianth’s memories. If I needed access to this part of myself to be the champion, then the answers have to be there somewhere.” I pause. “How are we going to explain this to the councils? And the world?”

“You being a god?” Even telepathically, Master’s voice is bone dry delivering that sentence. “I don’t know. If we tell them the truth, it would dramatically change your life here after all this is over.”

Gratitude swamps me. It’s nice to know Master is thinking about the impact it would have on me, personally. It’s nice to be cared about.

Leicht snorts. “A great many beings care about you, idiot.”

So much love there. But he’s right, and that’s something else I need to consider. My new friends and family will also be affected if the world knows I’m Wasianth.

“We’ll have to think of something to tell them. I’ll add it to my list of priorities… along with avenging my sister and saving the world.”

“You do that,” Master agrees. “Keep me up-to-date with your decision. People are starting to become concerned that you haven’t located the champion yet, and I can’t fob them off for too much longer.”

We end the conversation on that delightful note, and I turn my attention to rifling through the immense archive that is Wasianth’s consciousness.

Hours later, I’ve had no luck. Sadly, there’s no index to a god’s brain, no easy way to search—that I know of. I’m sure there has to be a trick to it. Some of his knowledge came to me at appropriate moments before, so why not now? Why can’t I just think, “How do I kill the zombies?” and have the answer pop fully-fledged into my head?

“Maybe you’re asking the wrong questions,” Leicht suggests.

“I don’t know many ways to ask how to kill a zombie army.” It seems like it should be a straightforward sentence.

“Start small. What do you know about zombies?” he counters, and I roll my eyes.

“Well, Leicht, they’re ? —”

Soulless reanimated bodies with no will of their own. Their ambulation and ability to function come from the tiny sliver of soul energy the necromancer who raised them infuses into the spell used.

I’m so startled by the sudden appearance of that knowledge that my mouth drops open and something flies in.

Leicht’s laughter echoes through my head as I cough and hack, trying to get whatever the fuck that was out of my throat. Turds, I hate flying.

But it seems Leicht was right; I just had to ask the right question. Necromancers use their soul energy to raise zombies? That seems shortsighted—don’t they need their souls?

The answer comes to me before I even finish thinking the question: Yes. Inexperienced or stupid necromancers often use all their soul energy to raise the dead and find themselves sucked dry and as soulless as the zombies they created. However, unlike those zombies, who can exist until they are destroyed, the necromancer remains human and will die in due course—but without a soul, will not enter the afterlife and be reborn.

Now that I know where in my brain the relevant information is stored, I’m able to filter through it. Leicht was definitely right: Asking how to kill the zombies was the wrong question. Zombies are already dead; they can’t be killed. That’s not what I need to do.

It’s hours past sunset when Leicht tells me he can see the ship my friends are on. I don’t bother to ask how he can be sure it’s the right one—he can see a lot better than me, especially in the dark, and I don’t feel like being called an idiot again today.

“How do you want to do this?” he asks. “Should I drop you in the ocean?” There’s far too much anticipation in his tone for my liking.

“No. Let me tell Jaimin to warn the captain, and then get close enough for me to slide off onto the deck.” It won’t be easy, but he’s a dragon and I’m a mage-god. If we can’t manage it, what’s the point of having all this power?

Jaimin rallies despite his startlement, and twenty minutes later, Leicht is hovering above the ship’s deck, his wing beats making the sails billow wildly. I stare down at the wide-eyed sailors below and wonder if this was really a good idea.

Too late now.

Sucking in a breath, I pat Leicht’s leg and slide off, thickening the air beneath me slightly to slow my fifteen-foot drop to the deck. As soon as I’m clear of him, Leicht pulls up, putting some distance between himself and the main mast before he turns toward the coast. “I’m going to find dinner. Call if you need me.”

“Enjoy yourself.”

If I had hoped to make a heroic entrance, those hopes would have been dashed when I didn’t land on my feet. Instead, I wind up sprawled on the deck, thanks to the fact that I forgot to account for the movement of the waves.

“Ow,” I say, my nose pressed to the rough wood planks. I better not end up with a splinter in my face.

“That’s my graceful love,” Jaimin declares, and big hands that are not his help me to my feet.

“Are you hurt?” Coryn asks, his gaze skimming me in the light of the torches some of the sailors are holding.

“Only my pride.”

He purses his lips thoughtfully. “I don’t think Jaimin can heal that.”

“He’ll survive,” the love of my life declares, coming up beside me to slide an arm around my shoulders. “His pride is used to being bruised.” The light words are belied by how tightly his arm is holding me.

The sound of a throat being cleared draws our attention to the captain, who’s standing a few feet away with a decidedly neutral expression. “Is there anything you need, sir?”

“I wouldn’t say no to anything that might be left over from dinner.” I paste on a winning smile so he won’t be tempted to throw us all overboard.

“I’ll let the cook know. Uh… will the dragon be returning tonight?”

I shake my head. “Not unless we run into trouble.”

The captain doesn’t seem to know what to make of that, finally just nodding before he walks away.

“Come on,” Jaimin urges. “We told Peiris to keep Arimen below, just in case he said anything he shouldn’t, but we’re all eager to hear how things went. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, just tired,” I assure him, leaning a little into his hold. “By the way, I promised my mother we’d visit when all this is over. She’s excited to meet you.”

He misses a step.

“That sounds nice,” Coryn enthuses, not noticing Jaimin’s reaction. “My mother died when I was a little boy.”

Aw. “You come too,” I say impulsively. “She’s not very maternal, but she’ll like you.”

That puts a happy grin on his face, and he leads the way to the officers’ dining room, where Peiris is slouched comfortably in a chair and Arimen is practically bouncing off the walls.

“Well?” he demands. “What did you find out?”

I keep silent while I settle into a chair and pull Jaimin down to sit beside me, keeping hold of his hand, and then I sigh.

“I talked to my father,” I begin, and give them a rundown of that conversation. Jaimin’s hold on my hand tightens to a squeeze. “Master Samoine has been searching the archives since late this morning,” I conclude. “He has the class rosters from my uncle’s time at the academy and is working on a list of who else he might have spent significant time with.”

“Does it need to have been a significant amount of time?” Peiris asks, and I shrug.

“Probably not, but would you approach someone you barely knew thirty-five years ago to bring them in on a plan like this? There has to have been enough contact between them for some trust… or maybe blackmail.”

“How long was your uncle at the academy?” Arimen asks. “Why would he want to blackmail someone? Or would they be blackmailing him?”

I shrug. “With Uncle Domys, it could go either way. He’s a nasty man who does nasty things, and he’s not above adding blackmail to the list. He was only at the academy for a year, though. He left as soon as he passed his first-year exams and proved he wasn’t a danger to the world.” I pause. “In hindsight, they may have been assessing for the wrong things.”

Arimen frowns. “But blackmail is bad. Why?—”

“He’s a bad person, Arimen,” Jaimin explains gently. “That’s why he’s involved in this.”

“Talon said he’s not smart, so I thought maybe he didn’t understand what he was doing. But if he’s a blackmailer too…” He shakes his head. “I guess he’s doing this on purpose.”

Oh holy steaming gods’ turds. I stare at my na?ve young friend and wonder why I had to be here for the destruction of his innocence. What am I supposed to say now?

Coryn rescues me. “He probably is doing this on purpose, but remember that there are a lot more people working on purpose to stop him. The truly bad people will always be outnumbered by the ones who want good, even if sometimes the bad ones seem like the loudest.”

Arimen firms his shoulders and nods. Jaimin squeezes my hand again, and Peiris looks at Coryn like he hung the stars. Fuck. Did something happen between them while I was gone? It hasn’t even been two full days!

I meet Jaimin’s gaze and tilt my head meaningfully toward Peiris, a question in my eyes. His mouth twitches into a rueful half-smile, and he gives a tiny shrug.

Great. Just great. I add “diplomatic negotiations” to my to-do list and hope that Peiris’s imperial parents are the doting kind.

“Let me tell you what else I’ve learned,” I suggest. The budding relationship can wait, and Arimen could probably use a distraction right now. “I was able to access Wasianth’s knowledge of zombies.”

Eager faces turn to me, the previous subject put aside. “Do you know how to get rid of them?” Coryn asks. “Can I help?”

“Yes, and… maybe. I haven’t worked out the details yet. The key is with the necromancers. They use pieces of their souls to raise the zombies and animate them. If the necromancer dies, the energy from those soul shards is absorbed back into the world, and the zombies return to being corpses.”

Peiris is already shaking their head. “The imperial histories mention slaying necromancers by the score. Some few died, but most didn’t—the act of raising zombies turns them into some kind of undead themselves. It was only the intervention of the gods that saved us last time.”

They’ve said that before, and it caused me a lot of anxiety. Not this time, though. I understand now. “They’re not undead; not even close. Some necromancers use a spell of transference—” I stop. What I’m about to describe is going to distress all of them a lot . “Maybe you should just trust me on this. We need to kill the necromancers, but I—Wasianth—need to do something first to make sure they die.”

“Just tell us,” Arimen says, his world-weary tone at odds with his youthful face. “We already know it’s going to be bad.”

I glance at Jaimin, who nods, so I take a deep breath and continue. “The spell of transference removes their soul from their own body and puts it somewhere safe. The nature of the spell means that they’re still connected to their soul, thus retaining their humanity, and can also draw on it to raise more zombies.” I brace myself. “But, and this is the worst part, in order to keep their soul energy from being used up by all the zombies they’re raising, they do another spell. It's… a bad one. It draws soul energy and assimilates it.”

Jaimin gasps, understanding, but Coryn frowns. “Huh? I don’t understand?”

“The necromancers transfer their souls into another living being, like a pet or a person, and then make it so their soul energy is shared.”

He’s still frowning, but then his eyes go wide. “They steal other people’s souls?!”

I nod. “Essentially, yes. The spell, which is so vile it’s nameless, lets the necromancer merge the two soul essences and control the resultant power. They can then raise zombies that they’ll be able to control without using their own soul energy.”

Peiris swallows hard. “What happens when the stolen soul is used up?”

“The necromancer transfers what’s left—their own soul—out of that body and to a new one. The old one dies.”

“Soulless?” Arimen whispers. “They die without their soul?”

I nod. “These are bad people and they’re doing bad things. But that’s why the Baswegian histories show that necromancers are hard to kill. Their souls are elsewhere, so they can remove their consciousness from their bodies long enough for… repairs to be done.”

“Not how I would have worded it,” Jaimin murmurs. “You can get around this?”

The others perk up and look at me hopefully.

“Yes. Well, Wasianth can. Peiris is right that this needs the intervention of the gods. Souls are their—our—domain, and I can summon the necromancers’ souls out of the beings they were transferred to.” I give Jaimin a speaking look, and comprehension lights his eyes. The others don’t know I’ve already been using Wasianth’s power to convey souls to the afterlife. “The only other way to do it would be to identify who those beings are and kill them at the exact same time as the necromancer.”

“We’ll call that plan B,” Jaimin suggests. “Okay. As horrific as all that is, at least now we have answers and can form a plan.”

I slump down in my seat. “We don’t have all the answers. Why are the zombies still massed at my family estate? They know we know about them—my father left there weeks ago, and we have dragons patrolling overhead. Why wouldn’t they be moving out into the countryside, infecting villagers and marching toward Harfarin… or wherever?”

“Perhaps their leadership is falling apart,” Peiris suggests. “It could be that those remaining can’t agree on the next move.”

“Or they’re the decoy,” Coryn adds.

My gut freezes. “What?” I rasp.

“They’re the decoy. While we’re watching the big group at the estate, maybe lots of the little groups are getting ready to move in other places. They could even be joining up into a big army somewhere else.” His eyes go wide. “That’s not good.”

Not fucking good, indeed.